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Dreams 02
These are dreams on the evening of Session 02. = Lynch = You are trapped in a metal box, swaying gently- possibly a ship? The light is dim, and you can barely see your surroundings- canvas mounds, crates, burlap sacks... The light gets dimmer, everything grows more indistinct, and you start to hear things in the darkness. The lap of the waves, the creak of metal, a hushed shuffling, heavy breathing. You see eyes popping out in the dark all around you, reflecting a hidden light. You pull your gun, and start firing into the circle, but the eyes keep coming closer, until you can smell their rotten putrid breath, and your hammer is clicking on an empty chamber. One face appears in front of you- some inhuman monkey man with enormous fangs lunges out, jaws wide enough to engulf your face, and you start awake, sweating and nervous. = Evey = You are in a hallway, following someone. There are many doors, like a hotel corridor, but they are all locked, and no one responds to your knocks. You hear a noise up ahead, and race forward to see a door just closing. You enter a stairwell, and see the flutter of a black coat on the landing above. You give chase, but the flat footsteps above you are keeping pace. Your breath is laboured and your heart is pounding in your ears when you come to the door to roof. Going through, you are blinded by bright sunlight. You hear seagulls, surf, voices in a strange language. Greek, perhaps. The water is a shining jewel blue, the sand is white, there are boats moving out of the harbor filled with swarthy men shouting as they go about their duties. You drift off into other, unremembered dreams. = Qianqia = You are walking on a mountain path. There are trees gently rustling in the wind, bamboo groves stretching up into the air colouring the air green, birds twittering in the branches. You come out into the open, and are on a rocky promontory, with a great expanse before you. You are above the cloudcover, and its rough white terrain stretches out to the horizon. You turn around, and find there is a line of people waiting for you. They call to you to share your wisdom with them, to bless them with your enlightenment. Their clamoring grows more insistent, and then angry when you insist that you are not the sage- that you were searching for him yourself. You turn to run, but the only escape is the edge of the cliff. The clouds start to roil and spin, turning black. Flashes of lightning appear deep inside the twisting banks. As many hands grab your body, you wake in the night. = Russel = You are in a bazaar in North Africa. There is a jumble of people, all shouting- hawking wares, begging for money, demanding their services as guide, or illicit companionship, bartering in their loud voices. You duck into a souk for some coolness, and meet your contact, a man with a map deep into the desert. He is frightened, looking over his shoulder, and flees the instant you've given him payment. His paranoia rubs off on you, and you see unfriendly faces in the market, people following you back to your lodgings. You dodge through alleys, taking an unfamiliar route back, and get lost. When you finally make your way, hours have passed, and you are struck by the silence. And then a sickly sweet smell. Your compatriots have all been killed, each grimacing in a rictus of pain. You realise the skin has been peeled from their torsos and arms, their tongues cut out and nailed to the floor in a familiar pattern. The sound of your own scream wakes you. = Matheson = The pilot, Dewitt, is shouting back at you from the cockpit- "I never thought you'd make it work, Tom, I can fly anything with wings and an engine, but you put this bucket in the air without either!" Huston, one of the mechanics, claps you on the back, shouting "I always had faith in you, Tommy! You've got all that special learnin, I knew if anyone could pull it off, it'd be you! I've been in some pretty serious scrapes in my time, but this beats quite a few of 'em." Miles, the other mechanic, is muttering under his breath, poring through a ledger. You edge closer, and can just hear him under the roaring of the wind, "Not out of the woods yet. Untried mechanics, don't trust those figures. Nothing to keep dropping right out of the sky. Look at it!" You turn and walk to the back of the plane to see several men working on a rotary mechanism, turning an enormous crank. They slack in their work just long enough to wipe the sweat from their brows and give you a half-hearted wave. You climb the spiral stairs and are standing in the open. You see the fuselage, wings ripped off mere feet from the body, clouds drifting past and a moire landscape far below, sparkling water winding through it. There are three struts welded onto the frame in an oddly asymmetrical way, jutting out from the body. In place of the tail is a pair of paddlewheels chugging away as the men below power the crank. You smile into the wind as you drift deeper into sleep. Category:Dreams Log